


The Agent and the Art Thief

by The_Marvelous_JollyRoger



Series: The Agent and the Art Thief [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Art Thief AU, Captain Swan AU Month, F/M, FBI Agent AU, OUAT - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Marvelous_JollyRoger/pseuds/The_Marvelous_JollyRoger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, first time actually posting a fic. Decided to jump on the CS AU train, and since I’ve been re-watching White Collar this little scenario popped into my head. Enjoy.

Special Agent Emma Swan stood with her hands on her hips, her fingers drumming on her badge, as she stared at the art showroom. Empty, except for one corked glass bottle with a rolled up piece of paper inside. She was getting real sick of this guy’s stupid calling card. Most of the art thieves she went after weren’t brazen enough to create a public identity for themselves. Scope out the mark, pull the heist, disappear, fence the prize – that was the usual gig.

But this guy? This guy had to show off. Normally showboating thieves were easy to catch, but this one had eluded her for nearly a year now. Agent Swan stooped down to pick up the bottle, glared at it for a moment, and uncorked it.

At first, the pages stuffed into the bottle just had the drawing of a skull and crossbones on it, signed The Captain; but as of three heists ago, he’d been writing out messages to her directly. Emma growled as she saw that the letter was, once again, addressed to The Lovely Agent Swan.

At first, she’d found the whole pirate motif cheesy and immature, but after so long it just grew to irritate her. Other agents began to snicker behind her back that she was being outwitted by a man who watched a few too many pirate movies for his own good. When the stupid calling cards had become flirty, the mockery only grew.

Emma wanted to crumple up the note before even reading it, but it was evidence. She didn’t hold her breath hoping for clues, though.

> _Have you had the fortune of seeing Botticelli’s the Birth of Venus, dear Agent Swan? It often reminds me of you, though I must confess you’d make a more fetching subject than Aphrodite standing there in that seashell. As of the moment I’m much too busy for the thought to be anything other than an idle daydream. But who knows? Perhaps someday I’ll paint the scene after all._
> 
> _Until such a day, enjoy chasing me as much I as enjoy being chased by you._
> 
> _~ The Captain_

This time he stole a renaissance painting of a ship, right out from under the nose of a private art collection. The building boasted top notch security, but the Captain had triggered no alarms, left no fingerprints, disturbed no other art, and yet the massive wall-sized painting was gone.

After some digging, Emma found that the security footage had been tampered with, and witnesses reported an unregistered white van leaving the building in the early hours of the morning. But, as always, there was nothing concrete to work with. Emma hated having to wait for the Captain to make his next move. She hated constantly being two steps behind the elusive pirate. But most of all, she hated the cocky, flirtatious tauntings he left behind just for her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended for this to become an 11 part thing, hence why the "chapters" are so short. But I can never write short stories so...

“Catch any crooks today?” Mary Margaret asked. In response, Emma fell face first into the couch, burying her head in the mound of pillows there. “I’ll take that as a no,” her roommate mused. Emma only grunted.

Mary Margaret sighed and abandoned the half-finished scarf she was knitting. The school teacher leaned over and prodded Emma’s shoulder. “C’mon,” she said. “Tell me about it. Rant. Did Agent Happy piss you off again?”

“It wasn’t Happy,” Emma grumbled, sitting up. Her hair was in disarray, but she didn’t bother patting it down.

“Ohhh, it was  _him_ then? The Captain?” Mary Margaret half sang.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Why do you gotta say it like  _that_?” she muttered.

Mary Margaret giggled. “Because! Don’t you think it’s even a  _little_ bit romantic?”

“No,” Emma said point-blank, “I don’t. At all.” She got up, pried off her boots, and got a beer from the fridge. To her slight annoyance, her roommate wouldn’t drop the subject.

“You gotta admit, it’s kind of sexy. The international art thief and the FBI agent? What did this note say? Was it as flirty as all the others?”

Emma could feel a headache brewing at the back of her skull, but she knew Mary Margaret would just keep on asking until she found out. The agent sighed and went back to the living room, stretching out on the couch with her drink. “He said I was prettier than Botticelli’s Venus,” she muttered into the lip of her beer.

Mary Margaret practically squealed, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Emma cut her off with a glare and a point. “It is  _not_ romantic, it’s stalkery.” Mary Margaret just quirked a brow. Emma rolled her eyes. “You read too many sappy romance novels.”

“And  _you_ don’t read enough,” Mary Margaret retorted. The teacher got up and went to the kitchen, ready to make them both dinner. “So what he steal this time?”

Emma let her head rest against the spine of the couch. “Painting of a ship,” she said, not interested in the finer details of the piece.

“That guy  _really_ likes his pirate stuff, huh?” Mary Margaret mused.

“Yeah, he feels more and more like a cheesy Batman villain than an art thief,” Emma grumbled.

“You’ll get him,” her roommate said, filling a pot with water. “You always do.”

Emma said nothing and instead took another swig of beer. She’d be damned if she didn’t catch him eventually. The mere thought of slapping the bastard in some handcuffs was enough to turn her mood around.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

Two weeks later she got another call and was standing in another crime scene. The only difference was, this time the call came at two in the morning and there was a bottle of rum waiting for her along with the Captain’s typical note.

> _I feel a gift is in order, Agent Swan, for your dedication to me. I must say I’m quite flattered by your continuous attention. Not flattered enough to slow my business or drop any clues, but enough to impart with you a drink. Despite your fair features, you strike me as a woman who favors a stronger libation. You can tell a lot about a person from their choice of poison, I think._
> 
> _I’ll toast to you, dear Agent Swan, though perhaps not to your ultimate success in my particular case._
> 
> _~The Captain_

This time around it was a statue of a mermaid. Smaller, more portable than the enormous painting he lifted previously, but still an incredibly difficult prize to steal. Emma sucked down her coffee and ignored the sideways glances by the first responding police officers.

“This guy’s got a real crush on you, Em,” Special Agent David Nolan said.

Emma scoffed at her partner. “Please, it’s not a crush, he’s just taunting me.”

David shrugged, drinking from his own coffee. “Just talked to the night guard. Said he was making his usual rounds when he thought he heard something, so he doubled back and found the mermaid statue was missing. Said he heard the squealing of tires soon after, but never saw the perp.”

_Figures_ , Emma thought to herself. But still, it was closer than they’d ever been. “Think the lab can pick up anything from the tire tracks?” she asked.

“Probably not,” David said with a sigh, “There are only millions of vans in New York.”

Emma drummed her fingers on her coffee sleeve. “He’s gonna skip town soon,” she said, staring at the pedestal where the statue was supposed to be sitting.

“Is that your super sixth sense talking?” David asked, rubbing his eye.

“He doesn’t stay in one place for too long,” she replied. “A couple months maximum.”

“Maybe he has a reason for sticking around this time,” David teased, his lips quirking up a little. Emma wasn’t amused. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, walking closer to the pedestal and peering down at it, fully knowing she wouldn’t find a thing. “I’m just kidding around, Emma. It’s 3 in the morning, I need humor and coffee to stay awake.”

“Yeah, well I’m not laughing,” she muttered. He said something else beneath his breath, but she didn’t bother asking him to repeat it.

“I’ll go to my street contacts again,” she said, standing up. “Maybe they’ve heard whispers of someone trying to fence the things he’s nabbed.” She headed for the gallery’s exit.

“Either you need better contacts or the Captain’s not fencing his goods anywhere nearby. Hell, maybe he’s keeping him for himself,” David said.

“Well he’s gotta be storing them somewhere,” she replied, still walking. “So let’s catch this guy before he disappears again.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

> _To the Lovely Agent Swan,_
> 
> _I hesitate to tell you just how close we were to meeting the other night. You were mere minutes behind me. It seems you will always keep me on my toes, dear Agent Swan. Good, it makes our chase all the more exciting, don’t you think?  Additionally, I hear you’re throwing yourself more into the pursuit for fear that I may be off to other horizons soon. I assure you, darling Swan, I’ll be around for quite some time._
> 
> _I trust you enjoyed the rum,_
> 
> _~The Captain_

In truth, she hadn’t even been able to take the rum bottle home with her. Evidenced locked it up, but she went out and bought the same brand, curious as to why the art thief would pick that particular drink. He said it himself, a person’s choice of poison could say a lot about them. She’d squirreled it away from Mary Margaret, however, knowing her roommate would never let her live it down.

The Captain’s confession of nearly being caught spurred her on, and him hearing about her efforts meant she was brushing up against the right marks. But still, it frustrated Agent Swan to no end that the Captain knew about her but she didn’t know the first thing about him.

Little evidence had surfaced during all of the gruelling hours of poring over security tapes, canvassing the crime scenes, and investigating witnesses. The only common elements were the maritime natures of each stolen piece.

She’d taped pictures of each lost artifact on a corkboard in her bedroom. A tattered flag from the Queen Anne’s Revenge, a portrait of an ocean storm, a statue of Mary Read and Anne Bonny, the painting of a pirate ship, the mermaid statue, and now a priceless bottled ship. She’d even pinned up a copy of Botticelli’s  _Birth of Venus_  and the label of the rum bottle. The items stared down at her each night and morning, reminding her that the Captain was still out there somewhere, writing love letters and plotting thefts.

“Knock, knock,” Mary Margaret said, peeking through the doorway. “I made you hot cocoa.” Emma sunk further into her bed, her arms crossed over her chest. “With cinnamon,” her roommate added.

Sometimes that woman knew her too well. Always a sucker for cinnamon, Emma sat up and swung her legs over the side. Mary Margaret, pleased with herself, handed the steaming mug to the FBI agent and sat down on the bed next to her.

“Thanks,” Emma said, wrapping her fingers around the warm cup. But Mary Margaret didn’t respond, she was too busy peering at the wall of the Captain’s stolen treasures.

“So if all his targets are ocean-themed, has the FBI put up alerts on oceanic art pieces on display?” she asked.

Emma nodded, licking some cocoa off her lips. “But there’s a hell of a lot of art in New York, with exhibits shifting constantly, collections going on auction, museums showing off restorations…it’s impossible to watch them all, and so far he hasn’t gone for any of the one’s we’ve staked out.”

Mary Margaret bit her lip in thought. “And he hasn’t left any clues in his notes?”

“No,” Emma said, resting the mug on her knee for a moment. She grabbed a binder resting on the nightstand, full of copies of the Captain’s notes to her. “He just boasts and flirts.”

Mary Margaret was grinning when she flipped through the pages. Emma decided to focus on the cocoa instead. “Well…he keeps making references to things…” her roommate said, rubbing her chin. “Botticelli, that rum, other pirate jargon…think any of it’s a message?”

Emma shook her head. “If it is, I can’t puzzle it out. Can’t tell you how long I’ve researched all his stupid notes. He enjoys me chasing him way too much to risk giving away his next hit.”

“Ok so, every two weeks…nautical theme…piratey calling card…” Mary Margaret muttered to herself. Emma was finishing the last few sips of her hot chocolate when her roommate gasped so loud and jumped to her feet that she spilled on her bedsheets.

“What?” Emma asked, licking her thumb and trying to rub out the brownish stain.

“Our field trip to the museum!” Mary Margaret said, her eyes wide and excited.

“What about it?” Emma asked, getting up and finding a mostly clean washcloth.

“We’re going to the Brooklyn Museum for the Egyptology collection, but I think there’s a new exhibit opening…something like Life on the High Seas, or Sea-life and Swashbucklers, I don’t know, but it’s right up his alley,” Mary Margaret said.

Emma grabbed her laptop from her desk and pulled up her emails, scanning through the list of FBI-watched targets. It wasn’t listed. “I don’t know, M,” Emma said, scratching her elbow. “He’s rarely gone after historic museums…usually it’s art stuff.”

“He stole that flag,” the teacher retorted, pointing at the picture on Emma’s corkboard. “Who’s to say he won’t go after something there?”

“Who’s to say he will?” Emma countered. “It’s a total shot in the dark.”

Mary Margaret stopped herself from saying something, inhaled and exhaled, and looked at her roommate again. “Why don’t you come with us? As a chaperone or something?”

“M…”

“Hear me out! Maybe it is a shot in the dark, but you always complain about sitting on your butt in the office waiting for him to pull something. At least this way you’re out and about, trying to get into his head. What could it hurt? Plus, if some international art thief  _is_ at the museum with us, I’d rather have an FBI agent there to protect my kids.”

It was all so ridiculous, but Mary Margaret had a point. It couldn’t hurt. Visiting a museum certainly beat tossing balled up paperwork into trash cans all day. Plus if she said she was chasing a lead she could probably save her vacation days for another time.

“Fine,” Emma said, raising her hands. “I’ll tag along on the field trip. But I’m not babysitting.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a museum, but it sure as hell wasn’t with two dozen restless 6th graders. Mary Margaret was patient with the busload of kids, but Emma wasn’t sure how her roommate handled it all on a daily basis. She figured teachers must be braver than FBI agents.

The kids were paired up, each responsible for learning all they could about one item in the Egyptology exhibit and later presenting it to the class. Emma hadn’t known a thing about ancient Egypt, but after just ten minutes of the museum tour guide talking, she knew more than she wanted to know about canopic jars and mummification.

After the tour, the kids spread out to work on their own, wandering the wing filled with dusty hieroglyphs, petrified tools, and faded cloth. After an hour or so, they were going to wander through the museum, but Emma split off on her own before that, hoping to scope out the maritime exhibit without 30 children clamoring all at once.

There were planks of wood from olden time ships, flags, bells, portraits, manifests, uniforms, weapons, and all sorts of other artifacts. A few other museum-goers wandered the exhibit floor, peering down at something, glancing at the information placard, and moving on. She did the same, milling around, until she reached a tall wooden figurehead carved in the shape of some sort of octopus sea monster thing.

A man was standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, staring up at it. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, glancing sideways at her.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, real pretty,” she muttered, taken aback for a second. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn’t expected anyone to talk to her, let alone for said museum guest to be so damn attractive.

His smirk was maddeningly hot, aided by his dark stubble and flirty blue eyes. Not to mention that accent. Emma ripped her eyes away from the British man and looked back up at the carving. “It comes from an 18th century brig,” he continued, “in honor of an old sea goddess.”

“You know your stuff,” Emma said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Some sort of flag was going off. Maybe it was Mary Margaret’s paranoia affecting her after all.

The man shrugged. “Perhaps…or it’s written right there on the sign,” he said, pointing. Emma couldn’t help a small laugh. He beamed, his whole frame lighting up. “I’m Killian,” he said, sticking one hand out.

“Emma,” she replied, shaking.

His dark brow quirked. “ _Emma_ ,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. Oh the way he said that should  _not_ have made her feel a little weak at the knees. “Find yourself in museums often, do you, Emma?” he asked, slipping his hands back into his pockets.

“Um, no, actually. I’m chaperoning a field trip,” she said, tossing her thumb over her shoulder.

“Ah, I thought I heard the chattering of children. Take a moment for yourself, did you?” he asked, his lips tilting up in a way that she should not be focusing on at all.

“Guilty as charged,” she said with a shrug.

“Ms. Swan!” They both turned to see one of the students, bright-eyed and brown-haired, hurrying up to them.

“You must be Henry,” she said. Mary Margaret had told her so much about the curious student, it wasn’t hard to guess that he’d be the one to wander off and explore.

He nodded, smiling. “I wanted to see the pirate stuff!” he said. “But Ms. Blanchard wanted to stay in the Egypt stuff.”

“You should probably stick with the group,” Emma said, sort of bending over.

“But  _you’re_ here, so it’s ok,” Henry replied.

Emma fished for a response. Luckily Mary Margaret appeared in the hall. “Henry,  _there_ you are! Come on, it’s time to head back to the bus.”

Henry threw one last look around the maritime artifacts before trotting after his teacher. “Emma, you coming?” she asked. Emma nodded and turned to say goodbye to the random stranger. A chill ran through her when she realized he was gone.

“Wait,” she murmured.

“What is it?” Mary Margaret asked, pausing in the entryway.

“That guy I was standing with…did you see where he went?” the agent asked, spinning in circles.

The teacher’s face darkened. “Um, out that way I think. Through to the next exhibit.” Emma followed Mary Margaret’s pointing finger and half jogged through the dimly lit room. The next floor opened up into a collection of Shogunate era Japan. There were a few museum-goers wandering around, but the leather-jacket wearing man was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll meet you back at the apartment,” Emma said, not bothering to look back at her roommate.

“What’s going on? You don’t think…was that the  _Captain_?” Mary Margaret gasped.

“I don’t know…” Emma admitted. “There was  _something_ about him… It’s worth tracking him down at least.” Emma marched through the museum in search of the man, but he’d vanished. The museum security tapes could only show that he left through the front entrance and disappeared into the New York crowd.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

“Agent Swan?” Emma looked up from her desk to see Belle coming up to her. Emma almost told the secretary ‘good morning’ before noticing the corked glass bottle in her hand.

“Unbelievable,” Emma muttered, reaching for the bottle. Belle was peering at it, curious. She didn’t often get to see any action, since she ran mostly behind-the-scenes stuff for the differing field agents. Emma pried out the cork and dumped the letter onto her desk. Belle glanced over Agent Swan’s shoulder as they both read the slanting script.

> _To the Lovely Agent Swan,_
> 
> _I’ll be the first to confess, seeing you in person was more a pleasure than I could’ve hoped for. I was almost keen to tip my hand, just to see how you would react, but I’m far too fond of this chase to give it up so quickly, my dear Agent Swan. The goddess figurehead shall remain where it is in the museum, you have my word. I turn my eye to other prizes, other treasures. You’ve been so tantalizingly close these last couple bouts, haven’t you? Tell me, my darling Swan, is it frustrating or exciting having me just outside your grasp?_
> 
> _I truly hope that was not our last meeting,_
> 
> _~The Captain_
> 
> _P.S. Pleasurable though it was to see you, my sweet Agent, I’m afraid I may have to keep my head below the surface for some time. Rest assured, however, that I’ll not depart for long._

Emma couldn’t contain her anger. She crumpled the note and slammed it into the trash can. Other desk agents turned to see her fuming, whispering to themselves or coworkers about it. She ignored them, jerking open a drawer in her desk. There, smirking up at her, was the facial sketch of the man she saw in the museum. After the security tapes proved fruitless (he’d managed to dodge each one or at least hide his face) she’d sat down with a sketch artist to capture his likeness. Now it seemed like the smug face would be circulating throughout the Bureau, and New York law enforcement.

She’d really met the Captain, then. Anger burned in her veins, causing her hands to curl into fists so tight her fingernails scratched her palms. That bastard had been  _right there_. She thought he was impossible and cocky before, but now he’d hold that secret meeting over her head forever.

 _You know his face now_ , she reminded herself, calming down.  _You know his first name. It’s something to go on. You’ll catch him soon. He’s getting careless_.

“Where did you find this?” Emma asked, holding the glass bottle.

“It was left on the doorsteps this morning,” Belle answered. “It was there before I came in.”

“Check the tapes,” Emma said, rubbing her temples. She knew there’d be nothing to see - either he would’ve obscured his face or gotten someone else to deliver the bottle for him. By now, Emma knew enough to realize the Captain wouldn’t be seen unless he wanted to be. He was always three steps ahead. It didn’t stop her from trying, though.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is super-duper short

“Good news for once, Emma,” David said, wiggling a slim piece of paper in the air. Emma turned in her office chair. “One of our guys on the streets said he saw someone smuggling what looked like the last missing piece - the mermaid statue.”

Agent Nolan handed her the paper. Emma took it, her eyes scanning the brief message scribbled down in rushed handwriting. It was an address. “Which guy was it? Robin?”

“You know Robin only coughs up info if criminals are hurting people. This is from Scarlet. He’s hoping this’ll get him out of his latest public intoxication charge,” David said, resting his hands on his belt.

“If it leads to the Captain, I could let that slide,” Emma muttered. She stuffed the paper in her pocket, jumped up from her desk, and threw her jacket on. “You coming?”

Agent Nolan smirked. “Wouldn’t miss it. Let’s bring this bastard down.”

Armed with a dozen well-trained FBI agents and SWAT on standby, the warehouse address was raided. Only thirty seconds into the operation Agent Swan knew it was a bust. The warehouse was completely empty. She swore, lowering her gun as the other agents streamed into the building to search every bare corner.

“I’m gonna _strangle_ Scarlet,” she seethed, shoving her gun back into its holster.

“Maybe we spooked them out of here,” David suggested, surveying the dimly lit warehouse. “We both know how fast criminals can clear out when they hear whispers of FBI.”

“Yeah…” Emma trailed off, swearing again. Her supervisor was going to chew her out big time. Over a year of hunting and she had only a sketch to show for it. After so many public humiliations, Emma was already on thin ice when it came to the higher-ups, but now? This Captain was going to cost her her job…her reputation be damned.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

Agent Swan refused to sit around any longer. She was taking the fight straight to the Captain. First step was finding that weasel, Scarlett. He always knew more than he let on, and she wasn’t beneath using threats to scare the criminal informant into being more cooperative.

She checked a few of his local haunts, pubs mostly, but wound up empty handed. Shivering from the nighttime chill, Emma stalked down the sidewalk, her expression enough to make people move out of her way.

Luck hadn’t completely abandoned her; beneath a lamplight just outside Central Park Will Scarlet was swindling tourists out of their money with a game of 3 Card Monty. “Scarlet!” she called. He looked up and blanched, muttering something beneath his breath. The small clump of tourists scattered.

“Well you’ve just cost me a pretty penny, haven’t you?” he grumbled, stuffing the rigged cards into his pocket.

“You’re lucky I don’t arrest you for extortion, Scarlet,” she said, not in the mood. He lifted his chin, catching her seriousness, not that he’d act any differently because of it.

“Right then, love, I suppose you’ve come here to do more than scare away my pocket change?”

“First, don’t call me that. Second, your info was a bust. If you really want us to sweep that public intox under the table, you give me something solid right now.”

Scarlet snorted, zipping up his jacket against the cold. “Look here, Agent Swan, I see something I tell you about it - that’s how it works. I saw something and told you about it, whatever happens out of that is outta my hands. Not my fault you weren’t quick enough.”

“There was no evidence anything was ever there, Scarlet,” Emma growled. “No proof that you didn’t just hand us a phony tip.”

“Oi, I may be a con-man but I ain’t no liar…” Emma rolled her eyes and just looked at him. He backtracked. “Right, what I meant was, I know when it’s smart for me to lie, and when it’s smart to sell the truth. I saw that mermaid rubbish being toted around and stored in that warehouse, Agent. Swear on my mum’s grave.”

“It’s not good enough, Scarlet. I need more.”

Scarlet frowned. “What do you think I am? Some sort of information vending machine? Well you can’t just push my buttons and have intell pop on out.”

“Well unless something pops out of you in the next minute, I’m going to pop _you_ into a cell.”

“You’re in a right mood,” the thief muttered. “Well you’re in luck, Agent. I just might have heard some interesting things on the wind. Little birdies are saying that your friend the Captain might be in a spot of trouble.”

Emma frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

Scarlet glanced up and down the street before continuing. “Rough waters, as it were,” he said, amused at his own joke. “Something about him and his partner having a disagreement. Don’t know the specifics, I’m afraid.”

“Where did you hear the birdies?” Emma asked.

He hesitated, all it took was for her to lift her eyebrows and he stifled a gulp before answering. “By the docks. Lots of old shipping houses there, the sort of place tourists avoid.”

Emma turned and started towards the shipyards, Scarlet chased her for a few steps. “Oi! Don’t I get some sort of recompense? You cheated me out of my earnings for tonight after all.”

Agent Swan didn’t bother slowing down, but she looked over her shoulder. “You’re lucky I need these for someone else tonight,” she said, patting the handcuffs attached to her belt.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

Agent Emma Swan was no stranger to the docks. Over the years a number of shady deals and criminal takedowns had happened on the strip of warehouses perched on the water. The buoy bells rang in the distance as she made her way through the dark. Lamps were few and far between, and most of them were broken anyway, forcing Emma to use her flashlight.

“The  _lovely_ Agent Swan.” Emma nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden voice. She whirled around, drawing her gun, and aimed at the chest of the mysterious man who’d eluded her. He wasn’t at all fazed by the weapon, in fact it seemed to amuse him. He never took his eyes off of hers. “I’m a fortunate man indeed if I’ve once again found the luck to meet you in person.”

“Shove it,” Emma replied, trying to ignore the man’s charm. She had to keep repeating  _he’s a criminal, he’s a criminal, he’s a criminal_  in her head to keep from thinking about how downright sultry his eyes were, how distracting the curves of his lips were…

“To the point, I see,” he said, rocking on his heels a little. Was the man made out of leather? Seriously, leather boots, leather jacket, hell even leather pants. But goddamn did he pull it off. She readjusted her footing, mentally shaking herself. “Very well, Agent Swan. In truth I hadn’t expected to run into you tonight, so you catch me at somewhat of a disadvantage. But I believe there is a way we could both benefit from this chance encounter.”

“Yeah, how’s that?” Emma asked, frowning if only to counter his maddening smirk.

“You desire to apprehend an art thief, and I am looking to cut out a stale partnership,” he said.

“Heard that you were having a spat with your partner. What was it, did you fight over whose cutlass is bigger?” she asked.

His devilish smirk only grew, and his chuckle was enough to make her wish she hadn’t said a thing, especially not a sort-of-suggestive thing. “I’m afraid it’s quite a cliched spat. We have differing opinions on how to go about our…business transactions. He’s become quite unreliable of late, and increasingly ill-tempered.” He took a few steps closer, his eyes flashing towards her own lips for a moment. She stood her ground, but felt something inside shake beneath the bedroom eyes of the art thief. “But if you’re interested in swordplay, I can assure you I’m unparalleled.”

“I’m taking you in,” she said, reaching one hand for her cuffs.

“I propose a deal, Agent Swan,” he said, ignoring her. “I’ll give you my partner; he’s got quite an impressive resume, I assure you, and his hands are dipped into many cookie jars.”

“In exchange for letting you go, right?” Emma asked, narrowing her eyes.

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “I promise I’m not usually that predictable, but we are in quite an interesting circumstance after all.”

Emma readjusted her grip on the gun, thinking. She’d made plenty of deals with criminals before, but only small-time ones. Hustlers, pickpockets, hawkers. This was entirely different. This was the  _Captain_. She’d waited too long to pass up an opportunity to catch him.

“Would it sway you to know that the partner in question is Edward Thatch?” he asked, knowing the answer right away.

Emma could hardly believe it. “ _Thatch_? He’s been on the top twenty most wanted list for over a decade!”

“Thought that’d entice you,” the Captain said. “I’m to meet him in twenty minutes to discuss where we’re taking our partnership. He’s rather cross at me for engaging with you at the museum.”

“Where’s the meeting taking place? I’ll call in backup.” She holstered her gun and went for her phone.

He reached forward and stopped her wrist. “I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he said, a touch of seriousness in his voice now. She yanked her hand away from his, wondering if she should keep a gun on this guy. He apologized with a mild gesture before continuing. “I extend this deal only to you, Agent Swan. Call me paranoid but I don’t exactly trust the rest of your lawmen.”

“And you trust  _me_?” she asked, half annoyed half curious.

Her stomach flipped when his tongue skimmed his teeth. “Maybe not  _trust_ per se,” he admitted, taking his time on each word. “But I do know how much you want me.” Emma gave a start. He shrugged. “I suppose you’ll have to settle with Thatch for now.”

“I can’t arrest Thatch for meeting you on the docks. I need evidence,” she said, refocusing.

“Would a confession suffice?” he asked, quirking a brow. “Ultimately it’s up to you, my dear Agent Swan, but you could hide in the shadows until Thatch says something incriminating.”

Emma stared at him for a long while, debating whether or not to take the deal. “ _If_  we do this,” she started, “if I get Thatch, I will give you a head start and nothing more.”

He flashed his teeth in a full-blown smile. “I’d despair if you weren’t right on my heels, love.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime

The FBI’s picture of Thatch was incredibly out of date. In the grainy, faraway shot Thatch had a long scraggly beard, but now he’d shaved most of it off. She and the Captain (god, Mary Margaret was never going to let her live this down) had arrived at the meeting place five minutes before the notorious smuggler.

She’d picked a spot behind an old, unseaworthy tug-boat in the shadows of the warehouse. Everything smelled damp and rusty, but that was the least of her worries. From her vantage point, she could see the art thief waiting in the open area of the building, beneath a weak light. Her gun was already out, the safety flicked off. She wasn’t taking any chances.

“You’re a bollocking  _fool_ , Killian!” The rough voice came before the rougher man stepped into the light in front of the Captain. For just a moment, Emma was surprised that he’d used that name when he introduced himself at the museum. She still doubted it was his real name, though.

“And you’re impatient and rash,” the Captain countered, unamused and unimpressed.

Thatch was almost red in the face. “That’s bloody rich coming from you,” he growled. “I’m not the one leaving love letters for the woman trying to catch me.”

“What I do with my heists is my own business, Thatch,” the Captain responded.

“Not when they can lead the FBI back to me,” Thatch snapped. “I indulged your theatrics because you’re a bloody good thief, Killian. I wouldn’t give a damn what you did with your half of the heists if they didn’t threaten  _my_ half.”

“And how much have my exploits cost you, exactly?” Killian said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Thatch jabbed a finger at the thief. “The secret to not rotting in a cell for the rest of your miserable life is  _thinking ahead_ ,” he snapped. “It’s about being proactive. Cutting losses before things go sour.”

So far all of it was circumstantial. She needed something solid, something specific before she could take him down. Agent Swan shifted her weight from one foot to another, relieving the building tension.

“I think we can both agree it’s time to part ways,” the Captain said. “This partnership has run it’s course.”

“Just answer me one thing, Killian, then I’ll never have to see your bloody face again,” Thatch said, taking a few steps closer to the art thief. “You’ve always been dramatic, but this last year? You gloat and carry on, you taunt those who are after you - why? Why risk everything?”

Even from her distance she could see the Captain flash a rakish smile. “The thrill’s in the chase, Thatch,” he said. “It’s the act of the thing. Profit’s all well and good, but it’s so much better when you have a little  _fun_ with it.”

Thatch snorted. “Should’ve figured it’d be something so daft. All right, boys, I’m done with him.” Thatch turned on his heels and waved his hand, looking almost bored. The Captain stiffened.

Movement from the catwalks drew Emma’s gaze upward. Two men with guns were stepping out of the shadows. “FBI!” she shouted, giving up her own cover. Her voice drew the attention of Thatch and the two gunmen, but surprise was on her side.

They swung their handguns around, giving Emma all the justification she needed. She squeezed the trigger, sending off two shots in rapid succession. One of the men staggered, the other ran along the catwalk to escape her aim. She kept her eye on him, swiveling while keeping her hand steady. Thatch was swearing, shouting at his men to “kill the blonde bitch.”

Emma was forced to retreat behind the tugboat as bullets pinged off the metal. She peeked over the side of the boat, bringing her gun up to bear and firing more shots. The agent berated herself while ducking the bullets. How could she have been so stupid? She hadn’t even told Agent Nolan she was going to find Will Scarlett.

She gritted her teeth.  _Beat yourself up later Swan_ , she thought to herself. _Focus on not dying_. The burst of determination was enough for her to dare giving up her cover for a moment to get better aim on the gunmen she winged at the start of the fight. A bullet buried itself in his chest, throwing him to the ground.

A hail of bullets betrayed the vantage point of the other shooter. Emma kept her head down as she ran for better cover, sliding into a spot behind abandoned shipping crates. She took the time to reload.  

Things fell quiet. Emma steadied her breathing, listening hard for the footsteps of the other gunmen. The lapping of the waves against the docks was the only thing she could hear. She stood, her weapon at the ready, and peered around the stacked crates. The gunman was creeping down the metal stairs, swinging his head around in search of her. She waited until he was on the floor before revealing herself.

“Drop your weapon!” she barked.

But the startled shooter whirled around, aiming right for her. He didn’t even get the chance to pull the trigger. He fell into a heap, a bullet between his eyes.

Emma let out a charged breath, but she knew it wasn’t over. There was still Thatch. He wasn’t above getting his own hands dirty. She leveled her gun as she advanced, striding through the warehouse with every sense thrown open.

“Ah, there you are, Agent Swan.” Emma swore as she sighed, lowering her weapon. The Captain stood above an unconscious Edward Thatch, smiling as if there hadn’t just been an attempt on his life. “I trust you’re unhurt.”

“What the hell happened?” she snapped, holstering her gun and peering down at the knocked out thief.

“Mr. Thatch took out a hit on me, it seems,” he said, crossing his arms. “Perhaps he wasn’t too keen on letting a man so  _foolishly_ taunting the FBI survive long enough to potentially turn on him.” Emma snorted, ignoring his self-amused grin. “Regardless, I must admit I didn’t think he would take such drastic measures to end our partnership. If not for your assistance, my darling Agent Swan, I would be a dead man.”

Emma had to drop her gaze from the flattery. How could something so irritating make her cheeks warm? Someone so annoying shouldn’t make her feel -

“How’d you get the drop on him?” she asked, nudging Thatch with her boot.

“Oh I’m no stranger to a brawl, love,” the Captain said. “I can handle myself.”

“Right,” Emma muttered.

“Perk up, Agent Swan. You have your man. Well…you have  _a_ man. I suppose you’ll just have to pursue the  _true_ object of your desire for a tad bit longer.”

When had he gotten so close? She didn’t have time to back up or protest or even think, because the next second his hands were on her hips and he was kissing her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Agent Emma Swan is tracking down the notorious art thief known only as the Captain, who has begun to leave the FBI agent flirtatious notes at the scene of every crime.

She couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The Captain was kissing her. The man she’d chased for over a year, the man who had taunted her after every successful heist…was kissing her. And she wasn’t stopping him.

Rational thought had no place in that moment. She just felt his lips working against hers, felt the light scrape of his scruff against her cheek, felt his warm hands on her sides. Emma shuddered beneath his touch, completely losing herself to the rush. Her heart was hammering as her eyes fluttered shut.

Their breaths grew ragged as the kisses deepened, becoming more heated, more desperate. The Captain propelled her backwards, pushing her up against the railing of the catwalk staircase. He silenced her small yelp of surprise with another ravenous kiss, his fingers hovering at her hipbones.

She didn’t even protest when he started unbuckling her belt. She wanted more. Emma gripped the lapels of his jacket hard, pulling him closer. She felt him smile against her lips. One of his hands snaked through her hair for a moment; she barely stifled a moan.

But the heat, the rush, the hunger died all at once the instant she heard a familiar click. Emma blinked, jerking her head away from the art thief, and stared down at her wrist, now cuffed to the railing. She yanked it, as if to reassure herself that she really was trapped.

“Sorry, love,” the Captain said, his voice husky now. “But a man in my position can’t take chances.”

“You…son of a  _bitch_!” Emma breathed, her mind racing to catch back up to the rest of her. Her belt, with her gun and handcuff keys, was tossed out of reach on the floor. She grit her teeth.

His smirk was infuriating. He leaned in again, his eyes flicking towards her lips. “True, I wish the circumstances of one of us being tied down was more pleasurable, but I’m not quite ready for this chase of ours to be over, Swan. Are you?”

She wasn’t sure if it was anger or hunger that made her face flush, but she did her best to glare at him. He chuckled, amused by her frustration. “Tell you what,” he said, stepping away for a moment. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pen and a pad of sticky-notes. He scribbled something down, folded the note, and walked back over to her. Her breath caught as he pressed himself close, his hand slipping into her back pocket. “Consider this a parting gift.”

With that, he swept away from her, striding back into the shadows of the warehouse. Emma tugged on the cuff, knowing it was in vain. The harsh clanking of the metal filled the echoing room. “I swear to god I’ll find you!” she shouted.

“I certainly hope you do, my darling Agent Swan,” his voice replied, bouncing around the empty crates, abandoned boats, and cement walls. “I eagerly await the day.”

Emma swore, giving a last vindictive pull at the cuff. Knowing she’d never hear the end of this, she reached for her phone and dialed Mary Margaret, instructing her roommate to bring the extra cuff keys she kept in her nightstand. Once freed, Emma called in the calvary to arrest the still unconscious Edward Thatch.

Soon the docks were swarmed with flashing red and blue lights and several dozen cops and agents. Agent Nolan had a million questions, but Emma promised to answer them later. She just wanted to go home, take a cold shower, and sleep till she was dead. After some convincing, her partner promised to cover for her and oversee the transition of Thatch to prison.

But she didn’t go straight home. Written down on the note the Captain slipped into her pocket was yet another address. Exhausted though she was, Emma wouldn’t be able to sleep until she knew what it was.

The search took her to the other side of Manhattan. At nearly two in the morning she found the storage container. She picked the lock, pulled open the heavy doors, and shone her flashlight inside.

Agent Emma Swan couldn’t help a small puff of tired laughter. Every single piece the Captain had stolen in the past year was sitting there, arranged to look like some sort of nautical trophy collection. The crowning jewel, front and center, was a painting of her as Botticelli’s Venus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After several requests on Tumblr, I WILL be writing a sequel to this. Thank you so much for all of your support and kind words! They really mean a lot to me, especially since this is the first time I've ever put a fic out into the internet!
> 
> Also! My incredibly awesome roommate photoshopped Emma (and friends) into the Birth of Venus painting. It's gorgeous and hilarious and wonderful, take a look: http://the-marvelous-jolly-roger.tumblr.com/post/126266371805/my-awesomely-amazing-roommate-made-this-for-my


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